


Inchoate

by skydork (klismaphilia)



Series: Unsanctimonious; Victorian AU [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blood and Gore, Insanity, Kinda?, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Period Typical Attitudes, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Tranquilizers, incarceration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: “As soon as I saw you, I knew you and I were made for destruction. You were deranged, you were so selfish and loathsome and always with that contempt on your pretty face. The only one mad enough to match my volatility.” 
 The aftermath of Hux's offense is a tumultuous fate like no other; some things were meant to be broken, were they not?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Imprudent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620585) by [skydork (klismaphilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork). 



> I would recommend reading Imprudent before this if you hadn't, just to familiarize with the plot. That said, the only remaining section of this is an epilogue! Darkest part to come, so... ;) Enjoy.

**Inchoate**

**...**

 

Hux had never fancied revelations. Nor did he fancy the marks that flame had torn into the flesh of his side, nor the cords he found binding his body to a metal slab, as if he were little more than an animal in the eyes of the law. The impending punishment was not nearly as pleasing as he’d imagined it to be; no, he’d much preferred the days of having whips draw tears into his flesh, of skin splitting apart, unmended, an open hole he could slide his fingers further into and tease.

He’d often imagined what it would be like, to sink a hand into his gut. The nudity he was often left with in the asylum provided no manner of hiding from the judging or mystified eyes of the other staff or inmates. Hux expected no less; he was an outsider here, nobility, misguided and moonstruck, so much that he’d cast fire on his own skin.

They would never let him forget it.

Then, there  _ was _ Ren to indulge him. Kylo Ren, who had been the true disease in his head, the plague on his mind, a possessive and encompassing force that Hux could not shake. His presence seemed everywhere at once, though perhaps that was an effect of depersonalization and sedatives. The medicine was something spectacular, wasn’t it? He’d hardly felt a thing since he got here.

(Rather, he’d felt nothing he hadn’t wanted to feel.)

Hux’s back is pressed against a firm, cold edge of a metal tub, filled with near-boiling water, the covering laced up fully aside from the hole around his neck. His eyelids flutter with the agony of ripples along his fair skin, scorching marks into his already marred flesh. It’s a relief of it’s own, a kind of mocking pride, to think he can sit through such torture and barely respond; years of conditioning, years of  _ perfection  _ gifted to him by the service.

Perfection that was taken from him by Ren.

At night, Hux has found Ren lingering outside his door, the presence an obvious mark against the ever-present silence; his breath, heavy and labored, the strain of his shoulders, his  _ need.  _ It’s a rush, to have Doctor Ren so eager to see him; and yes, Hux even believes he might be Ren’s favorite patient, not that the buffoon would ever agree to such an assessment.

The night Ren follows Hux back into his room he is insatiable, a beast clawing at every inch of skin he can find, forcing the removed-General down against his bed and drawing a curtain to shield their proclivities. He prods at reddened skin and squeezes bruises, makes promises they both know he can’t keep. On occasion, he’ll question something-- “Are you relieved?” or “What was your treatment today, Armitage?”

Hux rarely feels obliged to give an answer.

He’s contemplated, though, too late into the day, offering Ren tidbits of “I’d so often wondered if another being could slip inside my skin and wear me as a uniform,” or “My frailness seems appealing to you… would you enjoy me when I was rotting-grey-and-green, maggots festering my insides?”

Those are the words Ren does not offer reprieve from, not until after he’s had Hux again, until after they’ve further disgraced their bodies by lying together. Nobody seems to care, not aside from the two of them, and Hux feels a considerably tiny speck on the canvas of the world, fading into the mass. 

Even in infamy, he is damned to be unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s a shame, really.”

The voice echoes across stark walls of stone-over-stone, jesting and familiar in Hux’s ears. He’d been carefully attuned to that sound, the low drawl and certain apathy that escaped it; when a hand slides along the curve of his elbow, down to his wrist, he hardly makes anything of it. There was no use in screaming, like a petulant child; anger is the domain of people like Ren, savage and hardly human in their practices.

Of course, the logic does not deter Hux’s shudder, or the way his eyes flick to meet those of this clearly deranged Doctor, throat straining as he tries to move it. It seems his mouth was parched, as he was nearly immobile here, straps secure across his arms and over his torso, anchoring him to this sickbed.

“I find it a shame that you are still around to grieve me,” Hux mutters. “What do you get out of this, Ren? Are you histrionic, or do you take joy in knowing you’ve finally drove me past the edge?”

“‘Histrionic’. An interesting word given your circumstances, Hux,” Ren leans in, his hand jerking the Lord’s head upward by the bright red hair, their eyes matching with a certain level of sadism. “I thought I cautioned you of what might become of frequent paroxysm. It seems you hadn’t listened in the least.”

“Yes, there is some irony in that,” Hux responds. “Although it was well worth it, if it left you seething in resentment. Envy is as much a sin as greed, or lust, is it not, Doctor?”

“You will shut your mouth,” Ren hisses. “A lunatic such as yourself has no room to antagonize those going out of their way to redeem him.” A smile, flickering across Ren’s features, darkened with a sort of malicious magnetism that drew Hux in, thinking only of fire and loathing.

Ren continues. “My poor, dear little Armitage. So put upon by the rest of the world that you nearly torched yourself. Was the sex getting boring? It must be true, what they say about whores… that the Devil lingers inside them, always yearning for more. How many men have you corrupted with your vile touch? How many of them have you let take you, you wretched nymph?”

“Enough to forget you existed,” Hux answers, forthcoming, though it smatters of falseness, a blatant lie if there ever was one. Oh, how he thinks about Ren-- thinks about him too much, enough that these spiteful encounters were plenty to drive him out of his mind with arousal. The antagonism is splendid.

“It would be well-fit then, for me to give you a reminder of our relationship? Of just how much you will come to rely on me?” Ren smiles, fingers sliding along Hux’s hips, dipping toward the space between his legs, his stiffened cockhead drawing on the touch with pleasure. “Seems you still are unlearned in controlling your impulses. We will be needing to work on that, will we?”

“Burn in hell,” Hux concedes, returning to his state of silence.

Ren isn't worth wasting his breath on.

 

* * *

 

 

He comes to lying on a cold mat, the flimsy bedding half gouged through with metal springs, a truly unjust place. Even in the field, Armitage had taken great care in making sure his barracks were in meticulous order, and he never would've slept on a ruined cot. But then, there wasn't much for him to have say in now, was there?

He’s mad, of course. Mad, to be lying here with Ren’s arms about his waist and his mane of thick, black hair teasing the revealed skin of Hux’s hip; the bone protrudes now, a ghastly reminder of his own fragility.

It is a fragility that Ren seems to enjoy, though Hux has little care for what Ren does or does not care for in regards to his partners. If he wasn't mad, their meeting would have never come to fruition; no, it’s this insanity, wretched, that drove them together.

“Are you happy now?” Hux questions, a single finger toying with the Doctor's hair. “Are you, Doctor? That you were the one to drive me mad, that my madness is yours to control? I imagine you love it. Seems the thing a vile creature would take pride in.”

Ren shifts. Just a few centimeters, but enough for Hux to level him with a glare that soon evens into a haughty, face-splitting grin.

“Well, I like it too, Doctor. I quite fancy being mad. It's given me ample time to think. About the consumption of flesh, the wretched splinter of bones, the eyes in the woodwork that were once gouged from skulls quite similar to ours. Oh, yes, and the blood… it's my favorite, Ren, the most delightful. Does the Devil drink blood in place of spirits? Curious…”

“How you managed to appear sane for so long, I'm not sure,” Kylo says, abruptly, his teeth drawing a mark against Hux’s frail thigh, glancing up from between the locks of hair matted over his face, pleased. “Something so demented should not be so beautiful… what a misfortune.”

“I'll not forgive you,” Hux answers shortly.

“I would expect no less. My mad, bastard General.” And then Ren is straddling the ginger’s emaciated form, looming over him, hands tight on Hux’s wrists to keep him in place. “As soon as I saw you, I knew you and I were made for destruction. You were deranged, you were so selfish and loathsome and always with that contempt on your pretty face. The only one mad enough to match my volatility.”

A moment passes, and Hux does not dare to move, staring blankly ahead into the Doctor’s near black eyes. The chasm between them is bleak, empty, an abyss without return-- and meant only for them. The laughter bubbles up in his chest, careless and frenzied and  _ pleased,  _ as Hux tilts his head back along the pillow and tangles his unchained leg over Ren’s waist. 

“Yes, Ren, the mad  _ bastard. _ Hardly worthy of his father’s attention, let alone the public’s…” A pause. “I suppose I have you to thank, in the end. You gave me fame. You gave me insanity. My curse is yours, now. Melancholy… is it still melancholy if I’ve absconded? Turned to lust and enmity, begun  _ reveling _ in the suffering of others…” Hux grins. “Star-Killer truly was a great asset for my darkness, but I suppose I’ve found something better.”

Kylo Ren’s hands squeeze his thin wrists further, impressing his whole weight upon the former officer. “And what is that, Armitage?”

Hux’s eyes dance with a glowing array of flickering flames and shadows in some distant plane of existence. “Of course, Doctor, it was a cure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hux knows something is amiss before he opens his eyes, if only from the pain that splits his body in two, the wrenching terror that something is happening beyond his control. His eyes are dull, darkened with sedative and exhaustion alike, dragging him down into the pits of slumber. 

But far off, he can hear murmuring, indistinct, and there are hands moving through his body, deep into his gut, squeezing and clawing at whatever they can find. He’s slick and warm with the wetness of blood, and the lights that suddenly flash his eyes are scorning, wide and bright, nothing similar to his own residence, or the room which he is frequently confined in.

His legs will not move, held apart by something long that hooks beneath his knees and chains his ankles flat. There are  _ fingers,  _ probing him, and the blood continues to seep out, a life force renewed as it bathes the skin on their hands and the depths of his skin. Hux is open, so impossibly  _ degraded  _ before the eyes of whomever wishes to see, and he nearly is excited.

His body arches, keening with pleasure, and the waves within his brain are electrified to a degree he hadn’t known possible; it’s as if he’d being unwound, over and over again, skin stripped away like thread and body cast to the side. There’s a needle in his chest, yet something feels  _ missing, _ and perhaps it is; not that it would matter. Hux is a broken thing, anyhow, and powerful men are drawn to fragility.

He convulses, violently, and as though the anaesthetic has finally worn thin, his legs kick, still not free, too confined to run. Armitage Hux finds himself, for the entirety of this horrific moment, suspended in time, dancing with the wind, flitting in the currents, a useless being of paper, glue together haphazardly in all the wrong places.

_ Thin as a slip of paper. _

_ Slip of paper. _

_ Paper. _

_ Useless. _

_ WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP _

His mind is blaring, but Hux sees no capability in his own weakness.

The white room fades to dark, and the figures bearing faces so similar to his intimate memory disappear into the background.

 

* * *

 

 

When Armitage opens his eyes, he’s been propped against a wall of mortar and wood, cracked through the middle and chilly, a thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a mantle. The asylum is quiet at this hour, death hanging in the air over any that dare wake. He can feel the ache of his torso, the skin beneath flayed, torn apart and reworked even in waking. There is dirt under his nails, and grime coating his once-lovely figure.

Kylo Ren is nowhere to be found.

He thinks nothing, until his fingers brush along a rough suture threaded into his side, across his lower belly.

And then he stands, and he looks to the open window before him.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Denouement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709025) by [skydork (klismaphilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork)




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